


There Is COVID in Ba Sing Se

by Odae



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Roommates, quarantine au, this is just an excuse to romanticize domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odae/pseuds/Odae
Summary: The whole world is under lockdown, and Sokka and Zuko move in together.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 176
Kudos: 609





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have too many WIPs to count, and what do I do? Write yet another zukka modern au—woohoo! This time: and they were _roommates_.  
> I would be remiss not to mention that this premise has been done before by [Haicrescendo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo), and done very well. I will add, though, that this story is guaranteed to be pretty different as it is based on my own experiences and mid-pandemic move. Woohoo again!

Now that they were a few weeks into spring, the soft, pink petals of the cherry tree in Iroh’s back garden had begun dropping and forming piles resembling snow banks on the stone path. Thick and plentiful, some of the petals had already begun browning underfoot and releasing a sweet scent into the air. In a few days, they would smell more like rot, but today, the fragrance acted as a sensory balm for the two men occupying opposite ends of the garden. 

“Yep,” Sokka said from his seat eight feet away from Zuko’s, “this is just what the doctor ordered.”

He took a sip from his paper cup of iced green tea, then tilted his head back, angling for more access to the sun, and let out a long, loud exhale. 

Zuko watched him in quiet amusement. “I thought the doctor ordered a longer lockdown.”

Sokka’s head popped back up, and he gave Zuko a withering glare. “Don’t take this away from me. The past month has been the second worst of my _life._ ”

Zuko didn’t have to ask what the first was. “It can’t be that bad quarantining with Aang?” 

“No,” Sokka admitted with a sigh. He tapped the paper cup on the arm of his chair. “I just feel guilty sitting there while he’s worrying about how Katara’s doing in the hospital. You know how she has to stay in a dorm over the four weeks? I text and call her, obviously, but they talk for _hours_ every night. And her rotation’s almost up, so soon she’ll be home taking up even more space in the apartment.”

“Sounds like a lot.” Zuko took a sip from his glass.

“It is,” Sokka said, “and it isn’t.” 

“How profound.”

Sokka laughed. “I’m just saying, we can’t _all_ be working high-powered jobs trying to manage an international crisis,” he said. “Some of us have _actually_ just been sitting on our asses at home.”

Sokka watched as Zuko pondered that, taking a second to look around the garden. “It’s hard to believe someone like you could spend the past month ‘sitting on your ass.’”

“Believe it,” Sokka said. It felt almost sour, but he quickly shifted his tone toward something more lighthearted. “Did I tell you I woke up an hour before I came here?”

“Twice,” Zuko said, nodding. “Once on the phone, and then once when you got here.”

“Huh.”

“Also, it’s not like I’m doing much more than you,” Zuko said, steering the conversation back to their original subject. 

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mr. United Council Representative, because your job isn’t _literally_ managing international crises.”

“I’m serious!” Zuko insisted. “If I were really essential, I’d still have an office.”

“Do you think you could pull some kind of rank and get it back?” Sokka asked with a smirk. “I feel like as a real-life crown prince they can’t say no to you.”

“Are you crazy? If I went around telling people to give me my office back because my mom was Fire Lord Ursa, not only would I lose my job, I’m pretty sure my uncle would disown me for immodesty,” Zuko said. 

“But people know,” Sokka said, grinning.

Zuko sighed. “Yeah. Still, I just have to settle for taking meetings at the kitchen table, like everyone else, and hope my uncle doesn’t show up in the background in his house robe.”

Sokka laughed. “Well, it’s nice to know pandemics won’t stop for anyone, even royalty,” he said smugly. “And that— _wait_.” He blanched. “Not the short robe?”

Zuko nodded gravely. “The short robe.”

“All right,” Sokka said with a swift shake of his head, as though it might erase the image of Iroh in the garment that only reached his mid-thigh, “at least I don’t have _that_ to worry about in the hours I’m not sleeping.”

“Lucky you,” Zuko said.

Sokka brightened. “Did I tell you about the engine I designed last week? I got ten straight hours into it.”

“Like the water filter you started making the week before?” Zuko teased. “Was this at least for your dissertation?” He poured more tea from the pitcher on the table next to him into his glass, and then placed the pitcher on a little pull cart on the ground, sending it rolling toward Sokka. 

Sokka stopped it with his foot and picked up the pitcher. “Nah,” he replied, pouring the tea into his paper cup. “The Mechanist’s kind of checked out. I mean, he’s still _kind of_ teaching classes, and he’s around if I need him, but he hasn’t been on my case at all about any research for the second half of the semester.” He returned the pitcher to the cart and pushed it back toward Zuko. “But no, my dissertation project is gonna be about adapting a hot air balloon mechanism to space travel.”

“Yeah?” Zuko asked with a faint smile. He reached out a foot to stop the cart before it could roll into Druk, the large, brindle dog lying beneath his feet. “And how’s that going?”

Sokka crossed his arms, keeping a careful hold on his paper cup. “It is going just _fine,_ thank you. I’m getting _lots_ done.” 

He buckled under Zuko’s gaze, grimacing and looking down at the ground. “Though it’s kind of hard to keep track of time when you don’t have a real schedule.” A soft breeze blew through the garden and brushed his skin, a reminder that they were now a few weeks into true spring. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just losing the days, but I don’t even know where they’re going.”

Zuko nodded. “I get it. If I don’t have something to do for work, I won’t feel like doing anything. Meanwhile, Uncle has so much time on his hands since the shop closed, he’s started planning _activities_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Like what?” 

Zuko sighed as though he were bracing himself for something. “There’s morning pai sho, and then Tsungi horn practice, then lunchtime pai sho, and the gardening, then sometimes he tries knitting, and then afternoon pai sho—”

“Sounds like a lot of pai sho,” Sokka chuckled.

Zuko tugged at his hair with his free hand. “It’s so much pai sho!”

His shout startled Druk awake, and the large dog stood suddenly on his front legs. Zuko reached out to pet his head. “Sorry, buddy.”

Druk licked his hand in forgiveness and settled back down at his feet.

“It’s his house, though, so I don’t want to disturb him with my work,” Zuko continued, turning back to Sokka. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I feel guilty thinking about it, but sometimes I wish I had my own place.”

“Mhmm.” Sokka nodded absentmindedly. His gaze lowered to Druk, and then he looked up at Zuko. Another petal from the cherry tree floated down to the ground in front of him, and suddenly his eyes widened. With a sudden clarity, what Zuko had said finally struck him, and he shot up to his feet. 

“Zuko, you’re right!” he cried. 

Druk started again at the sound, jumping onto all fours and barking once in alarm. He whipped his head between the two men, checking for some disturbance and ignoring Zuko’s attempts to soothe him. With a world-weary shake of his whole body, he loped away to sit under the cherry tree instead. 

Zuko looked up at Sokka. “About what?”

“We should rent an apartment, you and me,” Sokka said urgently. “Zuko, we could be roommates!”

“What? How?” 

Sokka stared at him. “Do I have to explain all of the mechanics of two friends renting an apartment, or is there a specific part you don’t understand?”

“No, Sokka—” Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “I meant how are we going to find a two-bedroom apartment in the middle of a pandemic?”

Sokka’s brow furrowed as he sat back down in his chair. He turned no-nonsense, a particularly strategic quality defining his movements as he put down his paper cup and pulled out his phone. After a moment, he looked back up and waited for the sound of Zuko’s phone vibrating in his pocket. He nodded encouragingly when Zuko looked at him questioningly, and he couldn’t help the grin filling his face as Zuko found he had two unread messages from Sokka, sent from all the way across the garden. 

Each message was a screenshot. The first was of an article from the _Ba Sing Se Daily,_ titled “Mass Migration of Young Professionals from City Back to Rural Homelands in Wake of Pandemic Creates Housing Surplus.” And the second was a results page from Wan Shi Tong search for “two-bedroom apartment Ba Sing Se.” Each result was clearly for a listing, complete with pictures and a recent posting date, as well as monthly rent prices that would please even the pickiest of city dwellers. The bottom of the page noted that it was the first of fifty-eight.

Zuko looked back up.

“See? We could totally do it,” Sokka said, watching him expectantly. 

“You think so?” There was an edge of something in Zuko’s voice that Sokka couldn’t place: something like hope, something a little bit like unease, or a combination of both.

A whole cherry blossom floated down from the tree and onto Sokka’s knee. He smiled reassuringly at Zuko.

“I do,” he said. “I’ll send you a plan tonight.”

True to his word, Sokka sent Zuko an email later that night. And then immediately received a call in return. 

“What is this attachment?” Zuko asked. “It’s enormous. And I told you not to send things to my work email anymore. It’s unprofessional.”

Sokka grinned and settled into the office chair at his desk, spinning and enjoying the corresponding flipping feeling in his stomach. “Sure, I hear you, but you never check your personal one. How else am I supposed to send you important and time-sensitive information?”

Zuko groaned. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right,” Sokka said. He stopped spinning and turned back to his computer. “Have you opened it?”

He listened for the double-click of a mouse from Zuko’s end. 

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Sokka, grinning. He examined the spreadsheet he had just sent Zuko. “These are all of the listings posted in the last month for two-bedrooms in Ba Sing Se.”

“Some of these seem… skeevy,” Zuko said. “600 wan a month for two bedrooms in the Middle Ring? That can’t be real.”

“They’re listed low to high,” Sokka sniffed, scrolling down on his own mouse. “And they’re color coordinated, so I’ve separated the ones you should contact from the ones I should.”

“What does it matter whether you or I contact them?”

“It doesn’t always,” Sokka explained. “But I looked up the landlords. They’ll be more likely to give us the apartment if we have something in common with them. Fire Nation last name? Yours. Brilliant and jaw-droppingly handsome? Mine.”

Sokka heard a low chuckle from the other end of the line. “How are you finding out whether these landlords are jaw-droppingly handsome?”

Sokka perked up in his chair. “So you agree that I am?” There was palpable delight in his voice.

“Sokka,” Zuko said disapprovingly, though there was something warm in his tone. He paused. “What about Druk?”

“Oh, please. You honestly think I forgot about my good pal, Druk? I’m _wounded_ , Zuko; I was there when you adopted him!”

“You’re still not answering my question.”

“I tossed out anything that wasn’t pet friendly,” Sokka revealed, grinning. “Whether we can get them to bend on their weight limits… we’ll just have to find out when we call.” He paused to flick a pencil into rolling across his desk. “But this doesn’t mean I’m volunteering for dog-walking duty.”

“Okay,” Zuko said. He sounded dazed. “Wow. We’re really doing this?”

Sokka laughed and leaned back in his chair again. “Yeah, Zuko. We’re really doing this.”

“I’ll have to tell Uncle.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? He’ll be happy for you.”

Zuko sighed again. “I know. That makes it worse.”

Sokka sat up straight once more. “Hey, man,” he said slowly, “if you don’t actually want to move in with me, we don’t have to.” He fiddled with the edge of one of his lab reports on the desk. “I know I kind of got carried away and ran with the idea, but I really don’t mind sticking it out with Katara and Aang if you’re not into it.”

“No, Sokka,” Zuko said. His voice had a slight rasp from the late hour, but it was strong and sure. “I do.” He paused. “That is, I want to move in with you.”

“Really?” 

“Yes.” Zuko chuckled at the excited hiss coming from Sokka’s end of the line. “As long as you still want to live with me?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Sokka said. 

“What?” Zuko sounded entirely offended. “How am I being a jerk?”

“You’re acting like _I’m_ the one with cold feet when I literally have told you a million times I wanted to move in with you. That’s a jerk move.”

“I don’t have cold feet!” 

“Sure,” Sokka said, drawing out the single syllable. 

“Sokka, we literally came up with the idea today.”

“Right, and who’s been doing all the work?”

“I didn’t ask you to make a whole spreadsheet!” Zuko cried. “And you can’t lie to me; you _love_ doing this stuff.”

Sokka let out a quick huff. “Well, that might be,” he said, “but I can’t help feeling I’ve been taken advantage of. And I’m still not entirely sold on your commitment.”

“Fine,” Zuko sighed. “How can I make it up to you?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Sokka replied. He leaned back into his chair, his free hand coming up to support the back of his head. “If you would be so _kind_ as to look back at the spreadsheet, you may notice there is a slight difference between the number of red cells and the number of blue.”

He waited as he listened to Zuko scroll through the spreadsheet. 

“Sokka, I have twice as many as you do!” 

Sokka winced at the volume of Zuko’s voice. “Fair’s fair?” he tried.

He listened to Zuko sigh yet again. 

“It’s a good thing we’ll be living together,” Zuko finally said.

“I think so, too,” Sokka said with a satisfied nod.

“Because I’ll be able to get back at you for this.”

Sokka’s eyes widened, and he pulled the phone away from his ear to stare at it for a moment. “What are you—”

“Good night, Sokka,” came the official tone of Zuko’s voice. “I’ll update you on my calls tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you better,” Sokka replied, “jerk.” And then, in a softer voice, because he couldn’t help it when he was talking to Zuko, he added quietly before he hung up the phone, “Sweet dreams.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait as long as a week, so here's Chapter 2! and Chapter 3 is halfway done!
> 
> the exact words in my outline for this fic were: "We’re aiming for 4 chapters. They should all be brief, let’s say ~2000 words each (very dialogue-heavy, more slice-of-life)." so throwBACK to that please keep that sentiment in your thoughts and enjoy this 5k monstrosity of a chapter (it's a monstrosity to me, ok?).

The lease Sokka and Zuko finally signed two weeks later was for a two-bedroom apartment in the Middle Ring, a couple of blocks away from the monorail station with direct lines to both the University and the United Council of Nations. 

“It’s a good idea in case they open back up,” Zuko had justified the slightly higher rent.

“Right,” Sokka had replied sarcastically, “because that’s going to happen.”

The apartment was even better in person: a still-underpriced marvel of tall windows and exposed brick on the third floor of an historic residential building constructed a hundred years before. The sidewalk outside was lined with gingko trees bearing bright green leaves in the shapes of little fans, and the street was cleaned by the superintendent each night with a hose, and then the following morning with a straw broom. Their neighbors were largely older couples who had lived in the building for decades, or families with small children who fawned over Druk from a pandemic-conscious distance when they saw him in the hallways. 

There was seemingly nothing to complain about. But Sokka could always rustle something up.

“How are we gonna live somewhere so quiet?” he had said as they moved in. “I didn’t even see any bars or restaurants or anything. It’s so different from the Lower Ring.”

“It’s a more residential neighborhood,” Zuko replied with a small smile, carefully sliding a heavy box out of his arms and onto the hardwood floor. “And it’s not like we can go out in the middle of a pandemic anyway.”

“I know,” Sokka sighed. “I just miss my midnight lamb skewers.”

Zuko looked up from opening the box. “We can order in.”

Sokka mournfully shook his head. “But it won’t be the same.”

Zuko couldn’t be sure those weren’t tears in Sokka’s eyes.

Aside from the lack of bustling activity in the neighborhood, there really wasn’t much to dislike about their move. In the end, Sokka was right, and Iroh was delighted Zuko had decided to move in with him. 

“I think you are making a wise choice in living with your good friend,” he said to Zuko when he showed his uncle the pictures of the apartment. “And who knows, maybe you will be lucky enough to become even closer!” 

And Sokka more than made amends for forcing the brunt of the apartment inquiries onto Zuko; it naturally fell to the young engineer to set up not only their wifi, but also the electric, gas, and water services. And while Zuko purchased the furniture Sokka had picked out, Sokka was responsible for its delivery. 

“Zuko, can you let in the sofa guys?” Sokka asked on the second day in their apartment, popping out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. He tossed Zuko a mask.

It flopped slowly onto the floor in front of him. “I don’t know,” Zuko said slowly, “I’m still pretty tired from those twenty extra agents I had to call.”

Sokka threw his hands in the air and turned back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste. “And Katara says _I’m_ a baby!” 

After a few days, the fridge was still empty, and a box of newly-arrived bowls sat on the kitchen counter waiting to be unpacked, but a desk had been placed artfully in the corner of the living room for Zuko’s video calls, and a shelf had been carefully put together in the opposite end of the room to hold Sokka’s “library.”

“It’s really coming together, isn’t it?” Sokka asked, looking at their handiwork. He elbowed Zuko’s side. “A real, ‘home, sweet home,’ vibe, huh?”

Zuko sighed. “No matter how many times you say it, we’re not getting it on a welcome mat.”

On the third morning in their apartment, Sokka woke to the sound of a soft knock on his door, and when he grunted an affirmative, found Zuko striding in with a mug in his hand. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Sokka to sit up before handing it to him. 

“What am I getting the royal treatment for?” Sokka asked, trying to ignore how aware he suddenly was of sitting in front of Zuko in nothing but his underwear.

Zuko snorted. “This isn’t the royal treatment.”

“I think that’s actually the douchiest response you could have given me,” Sokka replied, though he was grinning as he held the mug between both his hands, breathing in the sweet scent of coffee and condensed milk. 

Zuko wore a small, self-conscious smile as he replied, “I could come up with something douchier, if you want.” He cleared his throat. “Either way. There’s breakfast, too.”

“Breakfast in bed?” Sokka exclaimed. “I knew you’d be a good roommate, but Zuko, I didn’t know you’d be _perfect_.” He was almost sure there had to be hearts popping out of his eyes. 

“No,” Zuko said. “Breakfast at the table. You have to get up. No more sleeping in.”

“Ugh,” Sokka groaned, but he placed the cup of coffee on his nightstand and rolled out of bed, shuffling over to the closet and chancing a glance back at Zuko to see where his eyes were. With a self-satisfied grin, Sokka turned back around and stretched languorously, fully conscious of how it showcased the muscles of his back. There was no harm in it, of course, nothing he wouldn’t naturally do otherwise. He stood with his hands on his hips, raising one to rub the fuzz of his undercut. 

“What should I wear?”

“Anything,” Zuko said, his tone suddenly impatient, and Sokka turned around to briefly spot the pink tinge of Zuko’s cheeks before a shirt came flying into his face.

“Rude,” Sokka sputtered, but he pulled the shirt—a bit wrinkled from having spent the night on his floor—on over his head. 

“I’ve got a call with the mayor of Shujing in half an hour,” Zuko explained, heading for the door. 

“Stupid mayor of Shujing,” Sokka muttered, “ruining everything.” But he pulled on a pair of jeans and scooped up his mug from the nightstand before following Zuko to the dining room. 

After receiving such a thoughtfully prepared breakfast of rice porridge and youtiao, Sokka could only naturally take it upon himself to return the favor. That night, an hour after Zuko returned from Druk’s final walk of the day, when the dog was fast asleep at his feet and he was still going over rates of transmission of the virus in the Earth Kingdom, Sokka tiptoed into the living room and delicately placed a cup next to Zuko’s hand. 

Zuko jerked up at the sound of the cup hitting the wood of the desk, and then blinked dazedly as he looked between it and Sokka. “What’s this?”

“Oh, this?” Sokka grinned. “Just a sweet little combination of chamomile, spearmint, and orange blossom. I got it from this great place. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it? It’s called the Jasmine Dragon.”

Zuko stared at him. “You want me to drink _sleepytime tea_.”

“C’mon,” Sokka whined. “I called your uncle and everything. It’s steeped at the optimal temperature!” He gave Zuko two thumbs up.

“But I’m not _sleepy_ ,” Zuko protested, his tone dripping with disdain. 

“Uh, I think that’s the point of the tea.” Sokka paused and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Now that I think about it, though, it should probably be named something different. ‘Sleepytime’ is misleading. It’s more like ‘time-to-be-sleepy’ tea.” He looked back at Zuko. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Zuko said, carefully moving the cup out of the way, “I don’t have time to be sleepy.”

“That’s stupid.”

Zuko looked up sharply, and Sokka stared back, his eyes narrowed in determination. 

“What?”

“Look,” Sokka said on an exhale. Something about the fiery quality of Zuko’s temper set his stomach spinning. “It’s late. You can’t convince me anyone else from your office is awake. I’m going to bed. Even Druk’s asleep.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t you think you should call it a night, too?”

Sokka waited. Zuko stared resolutely back at him. The silence between them was interrupted only by the sound of the breeze drifting in through the open windows and the gingko leaves outside brushing against each other in the wind.

“Fine!” Sokka cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Do what you want. I tried.” He pointed an accusatory finger in Zuko’s face. “But I know you wouldn’t disrespect your uncle by wasting a perfectly good cup of tea.” 

Zuko grimaced, his eyes darting between the cup on the desk and Sokka right in front of him. “You don’t know that.”

Sokka grinned. “Don’t I?” he said. Then he straightened back up to his full height. “On that note, I’m exhausted. Good night.”

He turned and headed toward his bedroom, smiling to himself when he heard the sound of Zuko quietly slurping the tea behind him. He left his door open and kept his light on once he threw himself into bed, stretching himself diagonally across the mattress. There was a book, a spiritual classic Aang had once recommended to him, perched on the edge of his nightstand, and Sokka grabbed it and thumbed his way back to the page he had ended on the night before. He only got another couple of pages in before he heard the padding of feet down the hallway and the jangle of Druk’s collar. 

Sokka looked up from the book and smiled. 

“You’re right,” Zuko said from the doorway. He covered his mouth as he let out a long yawn, and then shook his head like a wet dog in slow motion. “It should be called time-to-be-sleepy tea.”

With that, the young diplomat shuffled off to his room, Druk following closely, leaving Sokka laughing quietly behind them. He waited only a minute more for the _whump_ that indicated Zuko had fallen into bed, and with a final, amused shake of his head, Sokka turned out the light.

So, day by day, they settled into a sort of routine: each morning, Zuko roused Sokka out of bed with his cup of coffee, and each night, Sokka brought Zuko a cup of tea that would guarantee his getting a full eight hours. 

And then there was sorting out the time in between.

Zuko pulled Sokka onto the roof—access to which had been one of the major selling points of the building—for the first time a couple of weeks after their move-in. Sokka had been feeling particularly restless, walking aimlessly between the different rooms of the apartment, picking up different books, putting them back down, grabbing glasses of water and forgetting them on different surfaces. When he rose from his position on the sofa for the sixth time in an hour, Zuko got up, too, and directed him to his bedroom. 

“Shorts and sneakers,” Zuko said. “Put them on. We’re going upstairs.”

Despite his confusion, Sokka followed Zuko’s orders, and then followed him onto the roof. The top of the building was divided in two parts, with one side an open patio full of plants, leafy green beings that trolled over the fencing and slid down the sides of the building’s brick front. The other side was a wide, open space of some sort of concrete blend, and Sokka watched as Zuko placed two pieces of tape on it, one a third of the way into the space, and the second, another third in. 

“We’re running suicides,” Zuko said. He brought his smart watch up to his face and tapped it. “For thirty minutes. Straight.” 

Sokka groaned. “Not the Piandao circuit.”

“The Piandao circuit,” Zuko confirmed with a nod. “Ready?”

The laces of Sokka’s shoes looked a little loose, so he took an extra second to tie them on a little tighter. “Am I ever?”

Zuko let out a low laugh, and then he started the timer. They took off across the roof, each matching the other stride for stride. Their course started from one end of the roof to the first piece of tape, and then back, where they had to run again for the second piece of tape, and then run back once more before sprinting flat across the concrete surface for the fencing on the opposite side. It seemed the entirety of Ba Sing Se’s Middle Ring was visible from the roof: the tops of other buildings covered in their own collections of plants and ambling cats and old ladies hanging their laundry up on clotheslines, the significantly lowered volume of cars pacing their way down empty streets, and sidewalks lined in green and yellow and pink-covered trees in full, mid-spring bloom. But it was all a blur to the two men sprinting across their own skyline. Zuko was breathing annoyingly evenly from beside Sokka, who at the ten-minute mark already felt like his lungs were about to shrivel up and burst in his chest, like a collection of spores dispersing into air.

He said as much when he stopped running suddenly, dropping to the ground and lying down on his back.

“No more,” he gasped, “please!” 

Zuko paused the timer and then stood above him, his hands on his hips, sweat glistening on the pale skin of his pecs. Only the slightly deeper reach of his inhale betrayed any sign of exertion. “Let’s go, Sokka.”

“I’m not Sokka,” Sokka panted. He tilted his head up toward the sky and let his eyelids fall halfway. “I’m dead.”

If he hadn’t been so desperate for air he would have felt some disappointment at the astounding lack of a reaction from Zuko. Not even a chuckle could be coaxed from him.

“Sokka,” Zuko said, sternly this time. “I’ve seen you go from scream-singing karaoke drunk at Toph’s eighteenth birthday to deadlifting 350 pounds eight hours later. You can do this.” He held out his hand to haul Sokka back up. “Let’s go.”

No wordplay or clever remark, if Sokka could have come up with either, could deny Zuko’s words, so they set off again. From the fence to the first piece of tape, back to the fence, and then to the second, back to the fence, and then a final sprint all the way to the opposite side, over and over and over again. Soon enough, Sokka caught his second, and then his third, wind, and he felt the familiar burn of exertion creeping up his calves and thighs. It spurred him on, keeping him neck-and-neck with Zuko. Each of their steps landed almost perfectly in time with the other, their feet hitting the concrete with the same striking sound, setting a sort of rhythm between them and banishing whatever weight had been gathering in Sokka’s shoulders. He found himself grinning when he caught Zuko’s eyes, and if he’d had the time, he would have laughed at the way Zuko almost immediately stumbled in response. And the burning in his chest, that grated in his throat with each breath, felt more like a grounding, a reminder of himself inside his body, so that his own breathing had deepened and lengthened when the timer finally rang. 

Zuko checked his watch, now panting slightly to catch his breath. “How do you feel now?” he asked haltingly.

Sokka nodded from where he crouched with his hands on his knees. “Better,” he replied, grinning. 

“Thought you might,” Zuko said. He wore a small smile. 

“Whatever.”

Zuko leaned over to scoop his phone off of the ground, and then immediately frowned. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s nothing,” Zuko said with a sigh. “I canceled a meeting with the governor of Omashu. Seems he’s not happy about it.”

“Canceled?” Sokka asked, raising an eyebrow. “What for?”

Zuko looked up at him, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh, uh, for this.” He gestured weakly between them. 

Sokka stared at him. “You canceled your meeting to work out with me?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Zuko…” The grin Sokka wore looked like it might split his face in half. 

“I said it’s not a big deal. Don’t let it get to your head.” But a small smile still graced his mouth as he turned back to his phone. “Is it okay if I shower first?”

“Huh?” Sokka’s eyes widened as he realized he’d been staring. “Yeah, man, of course.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the ground. “I think I’m probably gonna do an ab set or something anyway. Make Piandao proud, you know?”

Zuko nodded. “Yeah.” He gestured toward the two neat columns of muscle that defined Sokka’s stomach. “Seems like you could use a challenge, though. Might as well throw in a few hot squats while you’re at it.”

“Ha!” Sokka grinned weakly as he imagined Zuko doing hot squats of his own. He rubbed the side of his face. “Might as well.”

“Well,” Zuko said, heading for the door back down to their apartment, “I’ve got calls until six, but let me know what you want to do for dinner.” He waved his phone in the air, waiting for Sokka’s nod of confirmation, and then he was gone.

Due to the endlessness of both Zuko’s international dealings and Sokka’s research, dinner, most nights, was a haphazard affair. They sat down in whatever half hour they could cobble together in the evenings to eat bowls of fried eggs on rice, or boiled eggs on noodles, or scrambled eggs and tomato on, sure enough, either rice or noodles. 

On weekends, and the occasional weeknight, however, their dinner hours became sacred events that stretched to fill entire evenings. They ordered in—to support local business, Sokka insisted, but also because Ba Sing Se’s food delivery network was a world-class resource that could not go unexplored—and set the table in the dining room, even putting a small vase of lilies down at the far end of the table to be admired during their meal. 

Sokka himself would have wondered whether he were an imposter if he failed to order the meatiest item on the menu, while Zuko, almost subconsciously, always picked out the spiciest. Sometimes it ended up being soft tofu buried in a bright red broth laced with peppercorn and ground pork, or noodles glazed in a pepper seed sauce he had to continually wipe from his lips while Sokka watched him hungrily. Most often, however, Zuko ordered his favorite Fire Nation delicacy: tubular rice cakes, the size of Sokka’s thumb, stir-fried in a paste of fermented red chilis and chili flakes that smelled so sweet and smoky and wonderful, Sokka could never stop himself from asking for one. 

“You’re sure you’ll like it this time?” Zuko asked, but still, as always, he picked out the thickest of the rice cakes with his steel chopsticks and brought it as close as possible to Sokka’s mouth, subtly holding a spoon beneath it in his other hand in case the cake slipped, or, as had happened before, Sokka missed. The stains were nearly impossible to get out.

“You good?” he asked once the single rice cake had been successfully delivered.

“Yep,” Sokka choked. 

“You’re sure?”

Sokka reached for his water and downed it, wiping desperately at the tears streaming from his eyes. “Never better.”

Zuko sighed affectionately. “I’ll get the yogurt.”

“Oh, no.” Sokka’s voice was hoarse. “Don’t worry about me. This is great.” He swallowed roughly, gasping immediately afterward with his mouth open. “I’m fine.”

Zuko returned from the kitchen with the little bottle of yogurt in his hand and paused to watch Sokka’s panting. “Sokka, you’re crying.”

“Fine, you caught me. Now would you hand it over?” Sokka stretched his hands out to receive the yogurt, and he brightened as soon as Zuko sat back down and passed it to him.

“Maybe you should just stick to your meat,” Zuko said, his tone mildly disdainful as Sokka tilted the bottle and started pouring it into his mouth.

Sokka’s eyes narrowed from above the yogurt. He swallowed, and then slammed the bottle down on the table. “Have some respect. Meat sticks are one of life’s greatest pleasures.”

There was a long moment of silence between them, but then a loud snort burst out of Zuko. He covered his face with his hands as he tried to temper the quiet laughter shaking his shoulders. 

Sokka’s eyes widened. “Oh, my—Zuko, I didn’t mean it like _that_!” He grabbed one of his lamb skewers and pulled off a cube of meat, chewing on it spitefully. He swallowed. “Though if I _had_ ,” he finally said, grinning, “I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Immediately a rice cake slipped from between the slippery steel of Zuko’s chopsticks and landed just an inch off from his plate, and the care with which he had avoided staining the tablecloth as he fed Sokka was all for naught. He looked up, his face almost as red as the sauce now infiltrating the table’s surface. 

“You have to stop saying stuff like that while we’re eating dinner,” Zuko said in an attempt at an even tone. He set to picking up the rice cake with his napkin. 

Sokka took another bite off of his skewer and watched as Zuko tried to rub out some of the stain. “Hey, you’re the one with your mind in the gutter.” He grinned. “And if you keep reacting like that?” He shook his head, still smiling. “I don’t think I will.”

The real highlight of their evenings together was never the dinners, but the time afterward. As Sokka and Zuko transitioned from the dining room to the living room, their movements languid with the warmth spreading from their bellies, and the sky outside darkening until the only light sliding in through the apartment’s windows was from the streetlights, a certain softness began to blur their edges and the spaces between them. 

That also could have been the bottle of wine Sokka inevitably broke out each time, however. 

“Sokka, I have meetings tomorrow,” Zuko always said when he spied the bottle. 

“Look, it’s just out, okay? You don’t have to drink anything you don’t want to. Seriously.”

And Zuko would consider him briefly before grabbing one of the two glasses on the coffee table and holding it out for Sokka’s cautious pour.

At first they watched movies, or whatever television series they could agree on. Sokka most often sprawled across the sofa, controlling the remote, and Zuko sat somewhere near his knees on the floor with Druk curled up at his side. But one night, Zuko had to review yet another report on the availability of personal protective equipment in Ba Sing Se, and Sokka ended up trolling the bookshelf for something to read. He at first didn’t recognize the battered, dog-eared paperback he eventually pulled from the shelf, but after seeing the cover and its overproduced calligraphy, he settled onto the sofa and, with one sidelong glance at Zuko, turned to the first page. 

“Ha!” he barked not long after. “Zuko.”

Zuko grunted in response, his eyes still glued to his computer screen. 

“Zuko, listen to this.” Sokka cleared his throat. “‘“I will love you each day that sun runs its course above us, and each night the ink of the Dark Spirit’s brush fills the sky,” so spake Noren, and the dear, poor, disguiséd Dragon Empress could only quiver at the sound of words she had so long dreamed to hear.’ Get a load of that!”

Zuko’s head rose sharply, and he whirled around to look at Sokka. His eyes landed on the book’s title: _Love Amongst the Dragons_. 

“Is that my—”

“High school copy?” Sokka grinned and settled more comfortably onto his back. “Yeah, it is. And can I just say, your annotations are _hilarious_.” He turned the book around so Zuko could see the page he was pointing to. “This paragraph’s just covered in hearts.”

Zuko pushed aside his laptop and rose to sit gingerly on the sofa, lifting Sokka’s legs to settle beneath them comfortably. Sokka could see a light smile lifting one of the corners of his mouth. 

“Keep going,” Zuko urged him. “This is my favorite part.”

Sokka grinned and turned back to the book, now affecting a high-pitched, falsetto voice to make Zuko laugh as he continued, “‘“You remind me of someone I long for, and what is it you long for yourself?” came the Dragon Empress’s reply once she had quite remembered herself. “We must have been together in a past life, you and I…”’”

From then on they read to each other at night. Zuko took over the readings of _Love Amongst the Dragons_ , pointing out the water and fire imagery throughout that foreshadowed the inevitable love at the book’s end, while Sokka took an afternoon to find his favorite book of poems, a gift from his mother that she had read to him before she died. 

If they drank more than one glass of wine each, and read for long enough, Zuko was guaranteed to fall asleep next to Sokka. And when he noticed, Sokka would trail off in the middle of whichever poem he had been reading softly. Then he gently rose from his seat to pull on Zuko’s boots—they were a little tight, but easy to slip on, so Sokka wasn’t complaining—and a mask. With a soft whistle he called Druk to the door and took him outside for his last walk of the night. Outside he could clear his head, listening only to the whispers of the gingko leaves in the wind and the sound of Druk’s sniffing along the ground. That way, when they came back inside, and Zuko woke at the sound of the opening door, rubbing his unscarred eye and saying, “Sorry. You could have woken me up,” Sokka could smile goodnaturedly and reply, “Man, it’s no problem,” almost like it was all he really wanted to say.

And then there was the evening _Sokka_ fell asleep. 

He woke, slowly and blurrily, to the feeling of a blanket being drawn over him. He blinked to make out Zuko’s face above him.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Zuko was saying. He gently laid a hand on Sokka’s shoulder to keep him from getting up. 

“Druk?” Sokka asked sleepily.

Zuko wore a small smile in response. “I walked him. Don’t worry. I’m going to bed, but I wanted to ask first. What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?”

Sokka let his head drop back down to the throw pillow. He smiled sleepily. Zuko was such a good friend.

“Can you make those soufflé pancakes again?”

Zuko nodded. He reached out to draw the blanket back up over Sokka’s shoulder, his expression soft in the pale darkness. “Of course,” he said quietly.

“Yay,” Sokka cheered, his voice hushed and hoarse with his sleepiness.

His eyes slid closed, but he thought he heard a light chuckle, and he definitely felt a squeeze on his arm before Zuko rose to leave for his own room. 

His feet padded quietly across the hardwood, but before they disappeared entirely, Sokka heard his voice once more. It was soft, but tempered by its usual rasp, as it whispered into the darkness, “See you in the morning.” 

And then Zuko was gone. 

In the ensuing quiet, Sokka’s mind turned in on itself, back into the loose strategizing that always seemed to be happening in his head. Most nights he ran through a laundry list of the tasks he had to get through the next day; this time, he allowed himself to float between them. He landed first on the thought of breakfast, and his stomach curled hungrily inside him as he pictured the stack of impossibly fluffy pancakes to which he would wake, and the eager, apprehensive look in Zuko’s eyes as he would hand them over. 

His thoughts fell next on his research. There were still so many models to get through, so many different grades of aluminum and titanium compounds to test. And if his trials so far were any indication, he was in for another day of failed experiments. A torrent of equations hit him, different heating mechanisms and alloys’ melting points barraging his brain like the waves of a storm. A flare of panic rose in Sokka’s chest at the thought of having to wade through them all. He turned onto his other side and tugged the blanket tighter over his shoulder, and then he remembered. Zuko would just be in the other room. And whenever he wanted to, Sokka could easily amble over, and Zuko would put down his notepad and ask how it was going. In the comfort of the sofa, with the darkness surrounding him and the blanket swaddling him, Sokka felt buoyed, almost, like a boat delivered from the open sea. 

His mind drifted then between the other parts that made up his days in the new apartment. He could work out, though he really only wanted to do it if Zuko could, because Zuko made it fun. And he could do some more painting, though at this point the portraits of Druk were piling a little too high in Zuko’s room. Sokka could make noodles for dinner, the hot kind that they had stockpiled in bright red packaging in the pantry, and just go easy on the spice packet in his own bowl, because it would make Zuko happy. And maybe, if he got lucky, he’d start watching a movie, and he’d call Zuko’s name, and, as Zuko always did, he’d pop his head up before acquiescing to Sokka’s requests to just climb onto the sofa already, and Sokka would pull him into his side, because Zuko was so warm, damn it, and Zuko—

Sokka bolted upright on the sofa. He looked into the darkness of the living room, and then the hallway that led to his and Zuko’s rooms. It was also dark. 

“Shit,” he hissed. 

He rubbed his eyes and once again, they turned toward the hallway. It hardly counted as a whisper when he spoke. 

“I think I’m in love with Zuko.”


	3. Chapter 3

The west-facing windows of the kitchen let in only a little light each morning, adorning each surface in a dusty glow. As Sokka shuffled in from his bedroom, the light also reached a large, white, cardboard box in the middle of the tiled floor. Zuko knelt beside it with Druk standing and peering over his shoulder. The sight made Sokka stop in the doorway.

“Oh, hey.” 

Zuko started, surprised to see Sokka in the kitchen. “Hey.” He put down the set of keys he had been using to split the tape stretched over the seam of the box. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”

Sokka rubbed his eye. “Yup. Congratulations. You managed to completely change my Circadian rhythm. I can’t sleep past ten anymore.” 

Zuko laughed, a short exhale through his nose, and turned back to the box. “Then what were you doing yesterday?” he asked. 

“Don’t come at me for my post-breakfast nap,” Sokka said. “It doesn’t count.”

“Sure. So we’ll just pretend you weren’t in bed till noon.” Zuko picked up his keys again. 

“We don’t have to pretend anything.” Sokka flashed a devilish grin. “As long as it isn’t continuous, it isn’t sleeping in.”

Zuko slid the teeth of a key through the tape on the box, careful not to jostle Druk still watching from behind him. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

Sokka laughed and moved toward the counter. “Is there coffee?”

“Yeah.” Zuko kept his eyes on the box while he pointed to a cup next to the stove with a metal drip filter placed atop it. “You can have it.”

Sokka looked at him curiously. “What? No, man, I’ll make another.” 

A clatter came from the drawers as Sokka searched for their second filter. Finally identifying it, he held the filter up triumphantly, and then turned on the stove before filling up the kettle with water. It surged out of the tap with a loud roar. 

He turned away to watch Zuko pop open the cardboard flaps of the box and start rooting through its contents. “What’s in the box?”

Zuko sat back on his heels. In his hands was a large ice pack. “Your dad called yesterday,” he said. 

“Called? As in, called _you_?”

“Yeah. He wanted to know how you were doing.”

The kettle overflowed with water, and Sokka rushed to turn off the tap. “Okay,” he said. The corner of his mouth quirked up in an amused, albeit confused, smile. “And that has to do with what’s in the box, how?” The kettle landed on the hob of the stove with a light _clang_. 

“I’m getting there,” Zuko promised, setting aside the ice pack. “He said he went on a hunting trip with Bato a few days ago, and they took down an ox-caribou.” He pulled the box toward himself. “There was a lot of meat, and he figured you were missing Water Tribe food in lockdown. So.” 

Zuko tilted the box in Sokka’s direction so he could suddenly see the inside. Druk’s head followed the swooping motion. Cut after cut of ox-caribou meat had been vacuum-sealed and frozen before being packed into the box, with more ice packs stuffed in the spaces between the steaks and ribs and loins. Sokka’s jaw dropped at the sight of them. Druk licked his chops.

“That’s so much _meat_!” 

“Yeah,” Zuko said. He let the box fall flat on the floor again. “I don’t think all of it will fit in the freezer.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sokka said with a laugh. “We’ll get through this in a week, easy.” He walked over to peer once more into the box. “Did he send intestines?”

“Uh, he should have,” Zuko replied, now rifling through the box again. He pulled out one of the vacuum-sealed bundles with a flourish. “He said to pan-fry them?”

Sokka grabbed the package and held it above his head, laughing triumphantly. “Hell, yeah, we’re gonna fry them!” 

Zuko started pulling the other cuts out of the box, trying to push Druk away from them. “And Bato said he’d send along some recipes. Which are—” He pulled out a thin folder, rifling through the pages inside, before passing it to Sokka. “Here.”

Sokka placed the pack of frozen intestines carefully on the counter and then opened the folder. “Whoa,” he said. He flipped through a couple of the pages. “Bato went all out. I haven’t had some of this stuff in years.” He looked up to smile at Zuko. 

Zuko smiled back at him. “Which do you want to make first?” He glanced down at the different cuts in front of him. Druk was trying to sniff at them through their plastic packaging. “Besides the intestines.”

“Definitely the stew.” Sokka sighed, his eyes glazing over. “I can already smell it cooking.”

The keys in Zuko’s hand made a skimming noise against the tile as he rose to stand next to Sokka. He peered over his shoulder, and Sokka lost his breath suddenly when he felt Zuko’s hand on his back. 

“Oh, good. We can get a lot of this stuff at the market,” Zuko said. “And now that you’re up, we can go early.” He turned back around to start packing the rest of the packaged meats into the freezer, and Sokka could breathe again. 

“I’ll add it to the list,” he said. His heart pounded in his ears still as he spooned coffee grounds into the filter atop his cup, and then poured hot water from the kettle over them. 

Zuko sighed. “Right. The list.”

“Zuko,” Sokka said, “we _need_ the list.” He tossed Zuko the package of intestines to tuck into the refrigerator. Druk whined mournfully as they disappeared from his sight. “Otherwise we come home with a million different kinds of fish cakes. And, like, nothing else.”

“I’m not the one who decided to do a fish cake sampler.”

“It was for science!”

“Right,” Zuko said, stretching the single syllable a beat longer than he had to. “Well, we should go soon. The old ladies always steal all the good produce. Even the cabbage.”

Sokka laughed. “But you don’t even like cabbage.”

“I’d like it more if I could get the good kind,” Zuko huffed. 

“All right,” Sokka said, “don’t go getting all steamed up.” He chuckled at his own joke as he took the filter off of the cup that was now filled with dark, steaming coffee. The filter was placed gingerly in the sink, same as the one perched atop the first cup. Glancing quickly at Zuko, he grabbed the condensed milk on the counter and spooned it into each pool of coffee. 

“Your highness,” he said affectedly, presenting Zuko with the fresher of the two. 

“Sokka,” Zuko sighed, but Sokka noticed the soft look on his face as he took the cup into his own hands. 

A newfound quiet descended between them as they each took their first sips of the rich coffee. Now that they were in the beginnings of summer, the spring chill that normally filled their mornings had disappeared. Their kitchen grew warmer by the minute, melting the sleepy stiffness from their bodies and allowing them to seep into each moment as it passed. With it came a growing awareness on Sokka’s part of how close he was to Zuko, their arms maybe an inch apart, their shoulders nearly grazing as they stood next to each other. 

He gulped down the rest of the coffee and slammed the cup down on the counter.

“We should head out soon if we want to get there early, right?” he said. “I’m ready when you are.”

Zuko blinked. “Sokka.” His eyebrow rose as he took in Sokka’s apparel. “You’re still in your pajamas.”

Sokka looked down at his half-clad form and grimaced at the sight of his gray sweatpants and nothing else. His eyes darted back up to meet Zuko’s intent gaze.

“Five minutes,” he said with a pleased smile. “That’s all I need.”

Seven minutes later, Sokka was showered and newly dressed in clothes more appropriate for a trip to the outdoor market. He slipped on one of the masks Katara had made for them out of a blue cloth with a red and pink floral pattern, matching the one Zuko wore, and whistled for Druk.

“You think it’s okay to bring him?” Zuko asked as Sokka clipped the leash onto Druk’s collar.

“It’s outside,” Sokka said, straightening back up. “What are they gonna do, tell us we can’t bring our dog to the park?”

Zuko opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it suddenly. His eyes crinkled above the mask in a smile. “Our dog?”

A light sheen of sweat broke out across Sokka’s forehead. “Uh, your dog,” he corrected. “Technically.” He looped the leash around his wrist and unlocked the door. “But I think I have some right of ownership now that I’m walking him half the time.”

“It’s not half,” Zuko replied, slipping through the door and holding it open for Sokka to walk through. 

“Are you kidding?” Sokka asked indignantly. He waited for Zuko to close the door behind them. “Half the time you take him out, I go with you. That’s a fifty-fifty situation.”

“I still take him out more,” Zuko replied. “And I feed him. It’s more seventy-thirty.”

“Seventy-thirty?” Sokka cried. “ _I_ feed him, too! Just last night I gave him that Arctic hen.”

“Leftovers don’t count,” Zuko said with a chuckle. He turned the key in the lock, and the tumbler slid into place with a soft click. He turned around to face Sokka. “But fine. Sixty-forty?”

Sokka considered him for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He nodded. “Sixty-forty.” 

They started down the stairs with the large dog loping between them.

The first thing Sokka noticed about the market was all of the aunties. Droves of them stood six feet apart in lines that stretched all the way across the market, toting identical wheeled shopping totes overflowing with the market’s best cabbages and melons and rambutans.

The second thing he noticed was the baozi stand. 

“Take this,” he said to Zuko, holding out Druk’s leash.

Zuko took it in his own hand. “Where are you going?”

“To eat, Zuko,” Sokka said. He shook his head. “I may have skipped breakfast just to get here early—which, by the way, I still haven’t heard a ‘thank you’ for—but even you can’t keep me from eating all the pork baozi my stomach can handle.” He pointed his thumb toward the baozi stand. “Want anything?”

Zuko peered over at the stand, trying to make out the print on its awning. He turned back to Sokka and shook his head, and Sokka took off so quickly in response he didn’t notice the older woman approaching them. Only after he had dashed across the courtyard and requested a bag of ten pork baozi—they were small, to be fair, and he already set a record last year for being able to eat twenty-two on an empty stomach—did he turn back and notice the short, white-haired lady angrily pointing at Druk and reprimanding Zuko. Poor Zuko, meanwhile, looked terribly pale, standing stiffly in place with a shocked expression on his face as she yelled at him. Sokka grabbed the bag of baozi and handed his money over in a rush, making out more and more of her words as he ran back.

“You young people think this is all a joke!” she was yelling. “Look at you, thinking you can just meet up with your friends here, like the market’s supposed to be one of your newfangled social clubs. You endanger all of us by coming here, and with that big dog, too!”

Druk settled back onto his haunches and looked up at Zuko curiously, his tongue lolling out of the side of his harmless mouth.

“If my Miyuki didn’t need her chicken livers, I wouldn’t even be here!” the woman continued. 

Sokka breathed in quickly through his nose as he approached them, and then puffed out a brief exhale. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, drawing up smoothly beside Zuko.

Zuko’s shoulders immediately sagged in relief.

“I was just telling your friend here,” the woman said hotly, now waving her hand in both of their faces, “that this is no place for fraternizing. If you youngsters want to socialize with friends, you can just take yourselves somewhere else.”

“I completely agree,” Sokka said, drawing his arm around Zuko’s waist. He felt Zuko almost jump beside him in response. “You know, my husband and I were just saying the same thing this morning.” He squeezed Zuko’s side. “Weren’t we, sweetheart?”

“What? Are you—” Zuko stopped when he noticed the expression of Sokka's eyebrows. “Oh. Um. Yes,” he said. His head bobbed twice in a short nod. 

Sokka turned back to beam at the older woman. “So we’re all in agreement,” he said. “No fraternizing at the market.”

The woman looked between the two of them. “I didn’t realize,” she said, and her eyes crinkled above her mask in an old auntie smile. Her hand landed on the handle of her shopping tote. “You two make a lovely couple.” She leaned toward Sokka, her hand coming up to cup around her mask, and whispered, “Make sure to get yourself some eggplant before they run out. They’re half off today.”

Sokka hoped the force of his smile could be seen in the top half of his face before taking a step away from her, bringing Zuko with him. “We’ll be sure to do that,” he said with a friendly nod. 

She waved and began to walk away. 

Sokka waited until she was out of sight before exclaiming, “Jeez, who peed in her congee?”

“I don’t know.” Zuko sounded a bit dazed. He pulled his arm back and stepped away from Sokka. When he looked up, he wore an expression Sokka couldn’t read through his mask. 

“Husband?” he asked weakly.

Sokka grinned sheepishly, his eyes crinkling and his eyebrows rising. “It seemed like the quickest way to get her off your case.”

An exhale came from Zuko that Sokka almost didn’t recognize as a laugh. “You could have just told her we were roommates.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said, “but where’s the fun in that?” He shrugged, trying to disguise the nerves that were suddenly twisting his stomach into knots. 

“Sure,” Zuko said. His eyes stayed on the leash in his hands.

Sokka cleared his throat. “Right. Well.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them quickly. His tone turned more cavalier as he said, “I do believe we’ve still got a stew to make tonight.” He raised his hand to act as a visor as his eyes scanned the various stalls of the market. He let out a light exclamation when he spotted one in particular, and he turned to Zuko to point it out. 

“Eggplant?” he asked.

Zuko's eyes crinkled back at him. “Only if it’s on the list.”

On good days, Sokka admitted he enjoyed watching Zuko cook. He liked the way Zuko walked around the kitchen, brushing produce with his fingertips, squeezing peaches and bringing oranges up close to his nose to smell. He relied so much on his senses as he made their food, testing the feeling of the garlic’s skin, the sound of the snap of the bean sprouts. He never used a recipe, instead referencing his memories of Iroh fermenting cabbage or flash-frying sticks of shrimp as he decided how much or how little to use of each ingredient. Sokka liked watching—again, on good days—as Zuko dashed to the cupboard for a splash of soy sauce, or tore apart the fridge for another dab of fish paste. 

On bad days, Sokka thought he might scream if Zuko asked him for a third sprinkle of palm sugar.

See, Sokka treated cooking like a science. He liked to lay out all of his ingredients at the beginning, in the order in which he would use them, and to carefully measure out the cups, teaspoons, and tablespoons he needed for each component of his recipe. He supposed it came from his days in undergrad, when he spent hours in labs fulfilling his chemistry requirements, and the difference between a normal experiment and blowing a hole in the wall was as simple as whether he grabbed the ethanol or the sodium right next to it. 

It wasn’t crazy to think his style might clash heavily with Zuko’s.

“Are you insane?” Sokka sometimes cried if he saw Zuko squeezing a seemingly haphazard number of limes into their soup, or refraining from setting a timer for their grilling eel.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave!” Zuko often exclaimed in response, and Sokka would turn on his heel and stomp in the living room in a huff. They usually stayed in the two separate rooms, Sokka staring at a book in his lap and Zuko drifting around the kitchen, now at a slower pace, until dinner was finally on the table, and one inevitably slunk to the other and apologized.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Save it, I was a jerk,” the conversation went on the worst days.

But today was a good day.

It probably helped that the recipe Bato had sent them was less of a lab procedure and more of a series of suggestions. Almost every single ingredient featured an addendum in Bato’s tightly scrawled characters: “to taste.” And in every encounter with the potential for error, whether it was not knowing how long to brown the ox-caribou shoulder, or what size to cut the onions, Sokka paused and searched his memory, saying to Zuko, “I think my mom used to...” And Zuko listened attentively and complied with whatever directions followed.

The stew came together quickly. Sokka gave Zuko the space to dice each vegetable into little cubes, Zuko waited for Sokka to finish stirring the previous ingredient before tossing the next one into the pot. And when Sokka reached out with his hand, he could rely on Zuko to provide him with the salt, or the pepper, or the fat trimmings, even without asking for them out loud. Soon enough, they reached the point at which the only thing they could give the stew was time. They stood for a moment by the stove, watching as the broth slowly began bubbling in the large, clay pot. When Sokka looked up, he found Zuko’s eyes staring directly into his.

“Do you want a drink?”

The question startled a laugh out of Sokka. 

“Wait, is this actually happening?” he asked, his voice tight and breathy as he wiped a single tear of mirth from his eye. “You, Zuko, asking me if I wanna drink before dinner?”

Zuko crossed his arms. “Well, if you don’t want to—”

“No, I do,” Sokka interrupted. He hesitated before placing his hand on Zuko’s shoulder, worried it might come across as anything other than a friendly pat. Friends clapped each other on the back all the time, right? A gentle squeeze wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

“I definitely want a drink,” he insisted when Zuko only eyed him warily.

Finally, Zuko smiled, a slight tilt in the corner of his mouth. “Okay,” he said. He crossed over to the fridge and pulled the door open, leaning down to reach into one of the compartments they used to chill wine. Sokka tried to look away as he bent over. “I was saving this for a special occasion, but…” He reappeared in Sokka’s view, brandishing an enormous bottle of sparkling wine. 

Sokka’s jaw dropped at the sight of it. “What? Man, no way, that looks crazy expensive.”

The fridge door sealed close with the sound of a light pat. Zuko shrugged and held the bottle out to Sokka to open. “My boss gave it to me,” he explained. 

“As in, your mom?” Sokka teased, taking the bottle and peeling off the foil. 

Zuko let out a quick huff of air. “No, Ambassador Anzu,” he said. He watched Sokka’s fingers make quick work of the cage surrounding the cork, his large hands moving delicately to untwist the wire. Something dark passed over Zuko’s eyes as they stayed on Sokka’s fingers, but it disappeared when he looked back up into Sokka’s face. Zuko gave him a sly smile. “Though I’m pretty sure he got it from my mom.”

Sokka laughed out loud, throwing his head back just as his thumb nudged the cork out of the neck of the bottle, and its pop coincided with the joy ringing from his throat. There was hardly any overflow, only a light trickle of foam over the lip of the bottle that made its way over his fingers but no further, so that when he sobered, he could clean it off by transferring the bottle to his other hand and bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking the pale gold nectar off of them one by one. 

When he looked up again, Zuko stood before him with two glasses in his hands, his hold on them so loose, it seemed he might have forgotten about them. His eyes were wide with something like shock, his cheeks flushed, and his mouth hung slightly open. 

Sokka swallowed roughly at the sight, and then cleared his throat. “What?” he asked.

Zuko jerked back into his normally rigid stance. “Oh. Nothing.” 

“There’s no foam on my face, is there?” Sokka asked, now self-conscious and rubbing at his cheek with his free hand. 

“No,” Zuko said quietly.

He held out the two glasses for Sokka to pour the wine, urging him quietly to add a little more before Sokka placed the bottle on the counter and reached for his glass. Zuko held it out to him, and as Sokka took it, their hands touched, their fingers bumping against each other. Even with such minute contact, Sokka could feel the warmth of Zuko’s skin against his, and the rough graze of his knuckles and calluses. Sokka’s breath caught in his throat.

The moment suddenly seemed too quiet and too long, so Sokka resolutely clinked his glass against Zuko’s, and then pulled away. With a quick tilt of his head, he dumped the wine into his mouth, swallowing roughly and grabbing the bottle again for a refill.

“Yep,” he choked out. “That is some fancy stuff.” He held the bottle by the neck out toward Zuko. “Can I top you up?”

“Huh?” Zuko’s eyes widened and then flashed between Sokka’s cringe and his own still-full glass. “Oh. Um. I’m okay.”

“Well, just let me know,” Sokka said, his voice slowly regaining its usual swagger. He lifted the bottle to his eyes and examined the label. “Whoa, this is _really_ fancy stuff. Why are you wasting it on me?”

“It’s not a waste,” Zuko replied. He took a long sip of his wine as if to prove his point.

“Oh, no?” Sokka placed the bottle, still dangerously full, back on the counter behind him. He took another sip from his glass. “Then we must be celebrating something.”

“I don’t know about that,” Zuko said slowly. 

“C’mon, Zuko,” Sokka said. The glass he had thrown back was already warming his empty belly and heating his ears, making him push even further than he normally would. He resisted the urge to reach out and poke Zuko in the ribs. Just to bury his fingers in his skin and tease him. Instead, he grinned the way he used to at the dive bars in the Lower Ring, before the pandemic, or the way he did lately, sitting next to Zuko in the living room, hoping it might earn him a bashful smile in return. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well,” Zuko began, caught halfway between a smirk and a sigh, “today _is_ three months since we moved in together.”

All at once, it felt like Sokka’s heart had cracked and spilled into his chest, swelling up underneath his ribs and into his throat. “Really?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Zuko nodded. “Yeah.”

“Exactly?” Sokka almost demanded. “Like, three months exactly? Today?”

“Yes, Sokka.” Zuko sounded exasperated, and he made a great show of rolling his eyes. 

“I didn’t know.” Sokka smiled down at the bottom of his glass, where the remaining wine formed only a shallow pool. He chuckled. “It’s like our anniversary.”

A slow hiss came from Zuko’s mouth, like air escaping from a balloon. And then Sokka heard, in a gravelly voice, “But not really.” 

Sokka’s eyes flew up to find Zuko looking away from him, his head turned toward the window. The last vestiges of warm, summer, evening light floated in through the glass pane and bathed his face in a golden glow. But his expression—from the angle of his brow, to the hard set of his mouth, and the defensive gleam in his eyes—was pure storm.

Sokka stared at him, his own glass poised in the air, only a centimeter from his lips. “Um, did I do some—”

“Do you still want to make fry bread?” Zuko's voice was hard, seemingly devoid of any emotion, but Sokka had known him long enough to recognize the slightest waver running through his words. 

Zuko turned around and began opening the doors of different cupboards, pulling them open abruptly, and then snapping them back closed when he didn’t find what he was looking for. His empty glass sat on the counter where he had abandoned it. 

Sokka drained the last bit of his own wine and nudged his glass away from the counter’s edge. He sighed, bracing himself. Zuko had a tendency to be dramatic, but this? This was uncalled for. There was nothing Sokka had said that could warrant such a reaction. And this was over what, the fact that he had called this day their anniversary? Sokka had said stupider things, even meaner things to Zuko without putting him in a funk. 

The last time he had gotten this tense and upset was before the lockdown, when all of their friends had met up during one of Zuko’s rare shifts at the Jasmine Dragon. After watching Zuko bring out an extra dish of egg tarts just for Sokka, a customer sitting a couple of tables away had hollered, “Is that all it takes to get free food around here? Sucking your dick?” The patron received a thorough tongue-lashing from Katara and was promptly kicked out, but Sokka had still had to hold Zuko back from throwing a punch at him. 

“Man, I know, he was an ass, but he’s gone now,” Sokka had said, his hand encircling Zuko’s bicep as he guided him into the seat next to him at the table. “And he was wrong anyway.”

And Zuko had nodded and sat down stiffly, taking the cup of jasmine tea Aang handed to him. “Right. He was wrong.” His voice had been hard then, too, with that little waver. 

So there was no way something as simple as acknowledging a milestone in their relationship, admittedly with some self-indulgently homoerotic subtext, could set Zuko off. 

Unless.

Sokka’s eyes widened as he watched the broad, muscled plains of Zuko’s back shift under the thin fabric of his shirt. Zuko’s shoulders sat high up near his ears, his movements tense and jumpy. Sokka grabbed the bottle and crossed over to the other side of the kitchen, flipping Zuko’s glass right side up before laying a hand on the small of his back. Zuko jumped just slightly at the contact, and then settled beneath him, closing the cabinet door in front of him to watch Sokka pour the wine. 

“I’ve got it,” Sokka said, his hand still on Zuko’s back as he set the bottle down and handed over the glass. 

Zuko nodded and stepped back, and as Sokka pulled out the flour and the salt and the oil, he could see Zuko in the corner of his eye, and the gentle, serene smile that made its way across his face as he sipped his wine. Even as the sky darkened outside, neither of them thought to turn on the lights, and Sokka mixed the dough together under the kitchen’s lengthening and merging shadows. With the stew simmering on the stove, the bread frying on the griddle, and Zuko standing at Sokka’s elbow, the golden quality of the evening was restored, and Sokka found he was not afraid of the approaching darkness.

The decision to transition from the dining room to the living room was a wordless one, much like the way Sokka and Zuko had cooked their dinner. And as Sokka followed Zuko down the hallway, Druk padding along between their feet, he replayed in his mind the many wordless moments that had passed between them. The feeling of Zuko’s knee pressed against his under the table. The way his eyes crinkled closed when Sokka made a joke. The point, right as they were finishing their meal, at which Zuko had reached across the table to offer Sokka the last of his fry bread, and Sokka, his brain hazy, not so much with wine, had tilted his head to let Zuko place it in his mouth, grazing the other man’s fingers with the lightest touch of his lips. It had taken all of Sokka’s power not to take Zuko’s wrist in hand, to hold it in place so he could kiss the tips of each of his fingers, to travel down the palm and press his lips to the delicate skin of Zuko’s wrist, eventually to pull him over the table and press into his everything.

But that might have been the wine talking.

Sokka kept his hands pressed to the tops of his thighs as he sat down on the sofa, his stiff attempts to keep his appendages to himself competing with the languid nature of both his and Zuko’s bodies. His eyes zeroed in on Zuko’s hand leaning on his knee as Zuko sat on the floor, right at Sokka’s feet. It was too much, too close, and yet not close enough, all at once.

“How come you always sit on the floor?” Sokka asked before his brain could stop him.

Zuko raised his head, his eyes narrowed in confusion as he turned to face Sokka. “What?”

“You always sit on the floor,” Sokka said again. “It’s like you don’t want to hang out with me.” The wine wasn’t letting him keep _anything_ to himself tonight.

The corner of Zuko’s mouth tipped up into a smile. “But I do want to hang out with you.”

Sokka carefully removed his hand from his own thigh, drawing it over Zuko’s hand and encircling it. He tugged once. “Then come hang out with me.”

Zuko dutifully rose from his seat, placing his other hand on the top of Sokka’s other thigh for balance. The movement disturbed Druk from his own position lying along Zuko’s outstretched legs, and he gave a short grumble as he slowly crossed the living room and dropped into the cushioned dog bed they had just purchased for him a couple of weeks before. Sokka secretly felt grateful they had already taken him out for their last walk of the night. 

A short thud announced Zuko’s having landed next to Sokka on the sofa. Maybe it was the haze of the alcohol, or the quick turnaround from the floor, or even the ratio between light and shadow in the room, but something was making it so that Zuko didn’t have full control of his limbs. One of his legs landed over Sokka’s, and his arm draped across him in such a way that his fingertips brushed Sokka’s inner thigh. Sokka couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that came through his nose in response

“Oh, sorry,” Zuko said, his voice strangled. He began to pull away.

Sokka’s hand landed on the knee poised over his own, stilling Zuko. “No,” he said. He cleared his throat at the sight of Zuko’s wide eyes. “I mean, um,” he tried, gentler now, “it’s okay.”

Zuko waited a moment before nodding and settling back down. The crook of his knee slotted perfectly over the width of Sokka’s thigh.

“Do you want to watch anything?” Sokka asked. 

“Not really,” Zuko said. He leaned back, and his eyes slid closed. 

“Or we can read again. Or talk.” Sokka waited.

“We can talk. Talking’s good.”

For the first time in his life, or so Sokka felt, he had no idea what to talk about. 

“So,” he said, starting slowly, “Fire Lord? That’ll be you one day, I guess.”

Zuko’s eyes shot open, and his head turned on the back of the sofa so he could face Sokka. “You want to talk about _that_?”

“Hey, you’re not really out here volunteering topics yourself,” Sokka shot back. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

Zuko let out a light, lazy laugh. “Fine,” he said. “What about it?”

“When do you think it’ll happen?”

“I don’t know. Whenever my mom abdicates.”

Sokka hummed in response. 

Zuko sighed, and the quiet between them grew. They could hear Druk snoring, the crickets outside, the gingko leaves brushing against each other in the summer night’s breeze. 

“Sometimes I think Azula should get it instead,” Zuko said quietly.

Sokka’s head whipped around to face him. “What?” he demanded. 

Zuko’s expression turned cloudy. “She’d be good at it.”

“Zuko,” Sokka said. He shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Zuko stared at him blankly.

Sokka took his hand. “You’re caring and kind and funny—you know, in your own way—and you work so hard, and you still make me breakfast _every morning_.” Emboldened by the wine still in his blood, he squeezed Zuko’s hand in his. “You’re going to be a great Fire Lord.”

Zuko looked up at him with such a soft smile, such warmth in his eyes, that Sokka felt his heart swell in his chest. “Thanks, Sokka.” 

Sokka nodded and looked away, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were heating. He stared at the purple fringe of Druk’s bed. Then a thought struck him.

“Wait,” he said, turning back to Zuko, “now that I’m thinking about it, there’s something I’ve always wanted to know.” He pushed on, his words rushing together. “As Fire Lord, what do you call your spouse?”

Zuko looked back at him with his signature what-are-you-talking-about eyebrow raise. “Hopefully, their name?”

“No,” Sokka laughed, more nervously than he wanted to admit, “I mean like their title.”

“Oh.” Zuko’s head dropped forward, his eyes toward the ground, as he considered the question. “Um. I don’t know. Ikem’s Prince Consort. I guess that?” He looked back up at Sokka.

“Prince Consort,” Sokka echoed.

“Why?”

“Hmm?” Sokka pulled himself up, his thoughts of stationery and letterheads emblazoned with the title slipping from his head like smoke. “Oh,” he said, “no reason. Just curious I guess.”

Zuko nodded and leaned his head against the back of the sofa once more.

As he pulled his sight away from Zuko, Sokka spotted the book of poems perched on the corner of the end table nearest to his side of the sofa. He grabbed and dragged the heavy volume onto his lap. The movement jostled Zuko and made him open his unharmed eye and glance over in Sokka’s direction.

“Do you mind if I read?” Sokka asked. 

Zuko shook his head and returned to his previous position. 

Sokka split the book open, turning to one of his mother’s favorite classic poems. A wisp of wind filtered in through the open window; he didn’t notice it, he was so engrossed in the lines she had once read to him. 

“You didn’t mean out loud?”

Sokka pulled his eyes away from the poem to find Zuko staring at him, pouting slightly. He laughed. “No?”

“Then why’d you ask me?”

Sokka felt a little bewildered. “I don’t know, you said you wanted to talk.”

“I also like listening to you read.”

Sokka tried to conceal his growing smile with an annoyed tone. “Okay, do you want me to read _out loud_ , then?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” Sokka flipped back to the table of contents and skimmed through the different collections of poems. There were hunting poems, nature poems, haikus—a personal favorite—and, Sokka paused when he spotted the header, love poems. He glanced once at Zuko, and then scanned through the last category before flipping to the corresponding page. He cleared his throat.

“All water is forgettable when you’ve seen the vast blue sea.   
No clouds so wondrous as those at Mount Wushan.   
Idly, I walk by some flowers without looking back.   
Partly to study Tao, partly to think of you.’”

Quiet soaked into the room in the empty moment after he finished the poem.

Zuko cleared his throat. “Is that Yuan Zhen?”

“Yeah,” Sokka said, surprised, “you know him?”

Zuko nodded. “We had to for school.”

“Oh, no way.” Sokka smiled. “My mom liked him a lot. She used to send my dad his poems when they were dating.” He turned the page. “Is it okay if I keep going?”

Zuko nodded. 

Sokka read a few more verses, pausing in between to mark the endings of each one before he launched into the beginnings of the next. After three poems, he noticed how quiet Zuko was. After another four, how still he was beside him. 

“Other people too have friends that they love;  
But ours was such a love as few friends have known.  
You were all my sustenance; it mattered more  
To see you daily than to get my morning food.  
And if there was a single—”

Sokka paused, his eyes still on the paper. He smiled. “You’re not falling asleep on me now, are you?”

“No,” Zuko said quietly. 

Sokka put the book down and looked up to find Zuko wide awake, his eyes staring intently into him. 

“What?” Sokka asked. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Uh, I’m supposed to be reading to you, but it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much _listening_ ,” Sokka said. He shook his head. “So disrespectful, Zuko.”

“No, I mean—ugh,” Zuko groaned, his hand coming up to fist into his hair. “What are you _doing_?”

Sokka put the book down. “You know what the definition of insanity is? Asking the same question twice, and then expecting different answers.”

“Sokka,” Zuko intoned. 

“What?”

“Why are you reading me love poems?”

Sokka halted. “We do this almost every night. You just noticed?”

“I just noticed they’re _love_ poems.”

“Well, that says more about you and your powers of observation than—”

“Sokka,” Zuko said again, sharp this time. “Just—” Zuko groaned again. His hands covered his face, and then fell away as he looked up at Sokka with searching eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

Sokka’s teasing grin broke. Zuko’s face was tense, riddled with the potential to hurt.

“Why would I make fun of you?” Sokka’s words sounded hollow in his ears.

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. His voice turned hoarse, a soft rasp as he looked up into Sokka’s eyes. “Are you?”

“ _No_.”

“Really?”

“ _Zuko_ , no, I would never,” Sokka said, ignoring any worries in his mind of sounding desperate. “I would never do that to you, I—”

He stopped himself. Because there were dozens of ways Sokka had imagined telling Zuko he loved him, and this was not one of them. It couldn’t be here, in the middle of their living room, with Druk dozing in the corner, the smell of their dinner still diffusing from the dining room, Zuko sitting next to him looking so _hurt_. And Sokka not knowing whether Zuko loved him back. 

“What?” Zuko asked gently. 

Sokka’s eyes widened in fear. His heart hammered wildly in his chest.

“You what?” Zuko prompted again.

“I…” Sokka trailed off. There had to be some way of staving this off. It couldn’t be now. Not when they’d only been living together three months and there were who-knew-how-many to go. He ran through formulations of words in his head of how exactly to tell a friend he loved him, but it was cool if he didn’t love Sokka back, and also _please don’t get freaked out._

And then. 

Then he saw Zuko, the concerned look in his face, and that soft glint in his eye that couldn't be interpreted as anything other than open adoration and admiration. And slowly the panic in Sokka’s chest fell away, and something new came to rest and surge from the bottom of his heart; first, the slightest bubble of doubt, and then the freewheeling flare of hope. 

Sokka needed five minutes and a data set. Or just some time to run back through his memories and log each time Zuko might have said something that could be construed as anything more than platonic. Then maybe Sokka could plan some kind of speech in his head, and at the end, he could finally, finally kiss him. Or maybe it was better to lead with a kiss first? Maybe he should try taking his hand; it wasn’t too much of a stretch, after all, they were already looking into each other’s eyes. Either way, Sokka should make the first move, and—

Sokka gasped once when he felt the hand on his chest, and then a second time when he was pulled forward, and he would have gasped a third time but for Zuko’s mouth obstructing his. Finally, his head caught up to his hands clasped around Zuko’s neck and he realized that it really was Zuko, Zuko who had pulled him forward and was now kissing him. And doing it _very_ well.

Sokka was only vaguely aware of anything other than Zuko’s lips on his, Zuko’s free hand coming up to grace his cheek and brush his fingertips across Sokka’s cheekbones. He moved his hands to Zuko’s waist and thigh and pulled him closer, as close as they could get sitting side by side on the sofa, relishing the sigh that escaped Zuko’s mouth against his. He leaned in further to press a light kiss to the right corner of Zuko’s mouth, then just his bottom lip, and then tilted his head to deliver a _real_ kiss, with a corresponding squeeze of his waist, and just the slightest bit of tongue that Zuko met softly with his own. A shiver slithered down Sokka’s spine, and the beginnings of a liquid heat were rising up the middle of his abdomen, when Zuko pulled himself away with a shuddering breath. 

“Um,” he started, his hand still on Sokka’s chest, his thumb tracing the groove separating Sokka’s pec and sternum through his shirt. “I should probably apologize.”

Sokka couldn’t take his eyes off of Zuko’s lips. “What?” he asked, dazed. Zuko’s words finally made it from his words to his brain. Sokka shook his head to clear it. “I mean, what?”

“Sokka,” Zuko said, the exasperation as clear as ever, but also laced with an affection Sokka noticed for the first time. “I mean it. I wasn’t thinking. Again.” He sighed and pulled his hands back. “Sorry.”

Sokka tilted his head back and laughed out loud for several seconds. He caught Zuko’s hands and held them, using the back of his own hand to wipe his tears as he let out his last peals of laughter. “Oh, Zuko,” he said weakly. “You really do crack me up.”

Zuko glared at him. 

Sokka grinned back at him. “ _What_ about what just happened could make you think you owed me an apology?” He tugged on Zuko’s hands, pulling him toward his lap. 

The cushions of the sofa shifted as Zuko slid forward, his legs soon covering and tangling up with Sokka’s. “Consent is important,” he said.

“True,” Sokka said. His mouth drew back into a wicked grin. “But you should know, you’ve always got mine.”

A bright flush colored Zuko’s cheeks as he gaped at Sokka, his eyes wide. “Oh.” He paused, and then nodded. “Uh. Me, too.” 

“Good,” Sokka said. “Because I really want to do that again.”

Suddenly, Zuko righted himself, and he pulled away. 

“Wait,” he said, “we drank a lot.” Sokka looked at him curiously, but Zuko pushed on. “I’m not drunk—at least anymore—but are you?” 

Sokka’s jaw dropped in mock-offense. “Zuko,” he said, “of _course_ I’m not drunk. How could you—”

“You’re a lightweight,” Zuko interrupted him. He held up a peace sign in front of Sokka’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fourteen,” Sokka answered. 

“Sokka.” Zuko crossed his arms.

Sokka grinned guiltily. “Two. Not drunk. Promise.”

“Fine.”

Zuko’s skin was as soft as flower petals, and Sokka sighed as he finally got to touch it. His thumb coasted up the edge of Zuko’s jaw before _he_ pulled _Zuko_ forward this time, relishing the sound of his sharp inhale before Sokka captured his lips in another searing kiss. It was slower this time, and more heated, and before he knew it, Sokka had pulled Zuko into his lap completely and made his lips’ way to Zuko’s neck.

Zuko’s head fell back in surprise, and a moan fell from his parted lips, immediately reigniting the flame that had been licking at Sokka’s stomach before. His tongue skimmed over the spot where his teeth had grazed Zuko, right at the point where his neck melted into his shoulder. Zuko hissed in response, wrapping his fingers in Sokka’s hair, and Sokka pulled back to tilt his head up and kiss him anew. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Sokka said when he pulled away.

Zuko was making his way up Sokka’s jaw. “How long?” he breathed into Sokka’s ear. He grazed the lobe with his teeth. 

“Months, now,” Sokka said at the end of his gasp. 

“Amateur,” Zuko chuckled, pausing as he pressed light, suctioning kisses to Sokka’s neck. An exhale blew across Sokka’s collarbone and made him shiver. “Try _years_.”

Sokka’s eyes blew wide open, and he pulled back, looking up into Zuko’s face. He looked flushed, with his hair disheveled, and his lips swollen from the crushing force of their kisses. 

“I love you,” Sokka said in wonder.

The heavy lids of Zuko’s eyes blinked open. “Really?”

“Yeah.” 

A sweet smile tugged at the corners of Zuko’s lips, and his eyes turned bright and soft. “I love you, too.”

Sokka kissed the underside of his jaw and grinned. “Bed?”

Zuko nodded. 

He began moving to stand, but Sokka slid his hands under his thighs and scooped him up, laughing delightedly at the small cry that spilled out of Zuko’s mouth. 

“Looks like all my hot-squats paid off,” Sokka said as he carried Zuko to his bedroom. 

Zuko shook his head, exasperated again. “Ass.”

“Mine does look pretty good, huh? No wonder you love me.”

Any snarky reply Zuko might have made was cut off by the backs of Sokka’s knees hitting his bed, and they both tumbled onto its surface. Sokka scooted on his back up the bed onto the pillows, and then rose onto his forearms, reaching out for Zuko. On an impulse, Zuko pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Sokka hummed appreciatively, enjoying the sight of tight, chorded muscle beneath soft skin, and feeling the weight of Zuko as he finally straddled him, knowing this soft, strong man, all man, was his. 

Zuko’s hand met Sokka’s cheek, and he surged forward to lay his body down over Sokka’s, when his head crashed right into the cherry wood headboard of Sokka’s bed.

“ _Ow_ ,” he groaned through gritted teeth, and Sokka, desperately trying to hold back his laughter, rose to caress Zuko’s cheek as he checked the new bump on his head. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. He brushed Zuko’s hair back and bit back a grin. There was no mark on Zuko’s head, absolutely no sign of an injury. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Zuko said, his tone injured even as he kept his hands on Sokka’s biceps.

“I’m not, really,” Sokka promised. He shifted his seat and pulled Zuko further into his lap, so their stomachs were now flush against each other, chest to chest and nose to nose. His mouth tipped up into a crooked, sly grin. “But you have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”

“No, it’s _not_.” Zuko looked up at the ceiling helplessly. “This is going terribly.”

Sokka stroked Zuko’s side with his thumb. “Actually,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head up to press kisses to the base of Zuko’s neck, his ear, his eyelid, the edge of his scar. He pulled back and grinned. “I think it’s perfect.”

Sokka knew the second Zuko was awake. The sun had just barely slipped up and over the skyline, the dome of the sky peeking through the glass panes and the curtains of the window still the palest of blues, and the breeze coming in through the open window still cool. There was a dip in the mattress behind him as Zuko shifted onto his left side. They had each rolled away from the other during the night, but now Sokka felt Zuko’s chest on his back, and then strong arms wrapping themselves around his waist and chest. Sokka smiled and grabbed the hand closest to him, bringing it up to his mouth to brush with his lips before releasing it.

“Good morning,” Zuko said, his voice still hoarse and sleepy. 

Sokka let out a low hum in response. 

“What’s wrong?” Zuko asked, stroking the lines of Sokka’s abdomen with the tips of his fingers.

“Nothing.”

“No,” Zuko said, with amusement in his tone, “Sokka, I know you. What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing.” Sokka heaved a great, exaggerated sigh. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s just such bad _timing_.”

Zuko’s hand stilled on Sokka’s stomach. “What?” 

Sokka took Zuko’s hand and rolled over to face him. “Not that,” he said with a short laugh. He paused and looked down at their entwined hands, and when he looked back up at Zuko, there was genuine sorrow in his eyes. “We signed our lease for a year.” He brought his face close to Zuko’s. “Just think how much we could have saved on a _one-bedroom_.”

The rigid planes of Zuko’s form immediately softened. He relaxed back into the bed, and into holding Sokka.

“Sokka,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “you scared me.” He sighed as Sokka kissed his hand again. “I should have known you’d still do this stuff in a relationship.”

Sokka paused with his mouth still on Zuko’s hand. “Relationship?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Is that what we’re in now?”

“What else would we be in?” Zuko replied. He looked flustered and maybe a little angry. “You just said you wanted a one-bedroom. You told me you loved me!”

Sokka grinned. “And I meant it,” he said with a wink. He nodded. “Yeah, we’re in a relationship.” 

“Great,” Zuko replied, still a bit surly.

“Great.” Sokka leaned forward to press his lips to Zuko’s in a brief kiss. He smiled as a dreamy look came over Zuko’s face in response. “And good morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and encouragement as I took my time to finish writing Chapter 3! I really appreciate it. Chapter 4 will be a short epilogue of sorts, so it shouldn't take too long to post. I hope you're all safe and well in the meantime!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I lied it took me so long to get the motivation to finish this :) but here it is! a short & sweet little epilogue. if it feels rushed it's because it is hehe

A late morning breeze, laced with the cool promise of impending fall, blew in through the open window and pushed the linen curtains apart. They flew up and away, out toward the bed in the middle of the room, across which a figure spread diagonally. Cool air tickled bare skin, and Sokka rolled over, turning his back to the window, and immediately frowned when he found the other side of the bed empty. He blinked and rose from the waist to survey the room blearily. 

“Zuko?” he called. Still hoarse with sleep, his voice came out more like a whisper. 

No response came from the room. 

Sokka grabbed the white-and-blue patterned duvet spread across the bed and pulled it over his head. A thud sounded from the woven rug as his feet landed on the floor and he started shuffling out of the room, the tail end of the duvet dragging behind him. A quick trip to the bathroom revealed that Zuko wasn’t there; the same went for the living room, the dining room, and the second-bedroom-turned-office. 

That left only one option. 

As he moved toward the kitchen, Sokka began hearing two high-pitched voices carrying a distinctly Fire Nation tune he remembered having heard many times before, most often at the Jasmine Dragon. He followed their singing all the way to a speaker perched on the counter, across from which Zuko deftly sliced an onion, his foot tapping along to the music, just slightly offbeat. 

Sokka hit the power button on the speaker with his index finger and grinned smugly as Zuko’s foot jerked to a stop and he whirled around, the knife brandished in front of him. His eyes widened when he spotted Sokka. 

“I was listening to that,” Zuko huffed. 

“Yeah, I know,” Sokka replied matter-of-factly, “but you weren’t in bed when I woke up this morning.”

Zuko’s expression turned bewildered. “How does that justify you turning off my music?”

“How do you justify letting me wake up alone?” 

“I’m making brunch!” Zuko cried, exasperated. “For Katara and Aang! Because they’ll be here in twenty minutes, and I was letting you sleep in after you stayed up late to turn in your research!”

Sokka blinked once from under the duvet. “Oh. Well. Don’t let me stop you.”

“Right.” Zuko rolled his eyes and turned back to the onion.

Sokka took it as his cue to sidle up behind him. “What are you making?” he asked.

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“No,” Sokka said, his nose scrunching disdainfully at Zuko, in offense. “What is it?”

Zuko sighed, his shoulders rising and then falling dramatically in a way only he could pull off. “Omurice,” he said, his tone potent with exasperation.

“It doesn’t look like omurice.”

“It will.”

Sokka considered the onion, and then the scallions, being sliced under the sharpened blade of Zuko’s knife. “Can you add crab?”

“What would Aang eat?”

“I think there’s lettuce in the garbage,” Sokka said off-handedly.

“Sokka.”

“I’m kidding. But are you sure—”

“No,” Zuko said, his tone hard. 

“Fine,” Sokka sighed, feigning dejection. He pulled away from Zuko’s back, and the other man turned around to watch him.

“They really are going to be here soon,” he said. He tilted his head toward the hallway that led to the bathroom and their bedroom. “You know, if you want to get ready.”

Sokka pulled the duvet further over his head. “Ugh. I need to shower.”

He peeked back out just in time to see Zuko’s small smile before he returned to slicing. “Make it quick.”

Sokka stuck his tongue out and pulled away to walk toward the bathroom. Just through the doorway, he spotted Zuko’s towel, bone-dry and fluffy, folded neatly beside his on the rack. Sokka stopped in his tracks, and he turned to run back into the kitchen, the duvet falling across his shoulders. 

“Zuko,” he said. His eyes sparkled.

“Hmm?”

Zuko finished the last of his slicing and then turned around, pausing when he saw the smirk on Sokka’s face. “What?”

“Have you showered yet?”

“...No?”

Sokka’s smirk widened into a grin, and he dropped the duvet to the floor, ignoring the pained look on Zuko’s face as he held his arms out toward him. “Join me?”

Zuko’s mouth pressed into a thin, hard line, and his eyes darted away from Sokka’s, toward the window, as he replied, “I still have to fry the rice, and it wouldn’t be fair to make them wait, and—”

“We have,” Sokka looked at the clock on the wall, “eighteen minutes.”

Zuko placed the knife carefully back on the countertop, and then began untying the back of his apron. “Okay.” He flung the apron to the side, when it landed on the floor with a soft whump, and then he stepped forward to take Sokka’s hand. He pulled back just as Sokka closed in, clearly intent on kissing him. “But not until you brush your teeth!”

Sokka’s mouth dropped in shock and clear offense. But then he grinned. “Deal.”

The click of chopsticks against the ceramic side of the bowl filled the open air of the rooftop as Sokka desperately scraped a few last grains of rice into his mouth. Katara grimaced in disgust at the sight.

“Sokka, you had _thirds_ ,” she said. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

“It was _good_ ,” Sokka said. He placed his bowl back between his knees and dropped his chopsticks in with a final resounding _plink_. A satisfied sigh came from his mouth as he crossed his arms. “And Zuko never makes omurice for me.”

Zuko stopped mid-sip to gawk at him. “I made it last week!”

“Hmm.” Sokka considered him carefully before nodding once. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

Aang laughed from his seat beside Katara. “I missed you guys.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Katara said, though she was hiding a smile.

“I mean it,” Aang said, grinning. 

“I missed you, too, buddy,” Sokka said, “but don’t worry! Now that things are opening back up, we’ll be able to hang out way more.”

“What do you think about that?” Zuko asked, turning his head Katara’s way. 

“About things opening up again?” she asked. Zuko nodded, and she sighed. “I guess we couldn’t expect the Council to keep everything closed for so long. But the hospital’s still taking extra precautions, and I think the health board wants to roll out another campaign to get people to stay home. I’m still worried.”

“Me, too,” Zuko said. “Cases are already starting to rise again in the Fire Nation. Jang Hui had to be put back on lockdown.”

“Yeah, but Jang Hui’s a port town,” Sokka said with a wave of his hand. “They’ve got people coming in and out all the time, so it makes sense to shut it down. But I think things’ll be fine out here, especially if everyone keeps wearing their masks.”

“I don’t know, Sokka,” Aang said thoughtfully, “I’ve been seeing a lot of people without them.”

“What?” Sokka demanded. “How are they getting away with that? There are signs everywhere! Do they _want_ to get sick?”

“That’s why we’re doing the campaigns,” Katara explained. 

“If you want,” Zuko said to her, “I could bring a motion forth in Council to get you guys more funding. I can’t promise anything, but I know they might be willing to help with outreach.”

Katara smiled at him. “That’d be really helpful, actually.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Sokka said. He pointed at Aang. “Your site’s coded. My undergrad said even the anonymous feature was ready. So whenever you’re ready to get the dog rescue going, let me know.”

“And the funding to pay the shelter staff should come through in about a week,” Zuko added, glancing at Sokka. He smiled at Aang. “Kuei was really happy with your proposal. And that he doesn’t have to set up animal sanctuary services himself.”

“Wow, thanks, you guys,” Aang said, beaming. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all week!”

Katara smiled and explained to Sokka and Zuko, “We had to cancel our trip south. It just seemed too risky exposing Dad and Bato.”

“That sucks,” Sokka said. He shook his head. “I’m almost glad Zuko has his summit that week. I would’ve gotten _way_ too excited about going home.”

“Yeah,” Katara said on an exhale. 

Sokka watched her disappointed expression for a moment, and then sat up. “Well, here’s an idea. Why don’t you guys come here for the Autumn Equinox instead? Iroh was going to come over, too. He’s already started looking for a place to order botamochi.”

“And formulating a new custom blend for the shop,” Zuko added.

Sokka nodded eagerly. “He even said he’d think about my pumpkin spice idea.”

He looked to Zuko for confirmation. “I don’t think that’s exactly what he said,” Zuko said slowly.

“Nah, he’ll come around,” Sokka said, turning back to face Katara and Aang. “I think it’s a winner.”

“Well, I think having the Autumn Equinox here is a great idea,” Aang said brightly. “We could even bring Appa to play with Druk!”

Sokka had to stop himself from laughing at the nervous smile filling Zuko’s face thinking of _two_ enormous dogs tearing around their living room.

“It’ll be a nice break before we have to go back into quarantine,” Katara said, also smiling. “I’ll work out my schedule beforehand.”

“What do you mean, ‘back into quarantine?’” Sokka asked.

“We’re almost definitely getting another spike in cases this fall,” Katara said gravely. 

“That doesn’t sound good,” Aang said. 

“I think it’ll mean another lockdown,” Katara continued, her tone rueful. But then Sokka watched her smile and reach out to fix Aang’s collar. “But we can get through it again. As long as we have each other, we’ll be fine.”

Aang smiled sappily at her. Sokka mimed a gagging motion at Zuko, but stopped when Aang turned to them.

“It’ll just be you two again for a while, then,” he said. He smiled and tilted his head at them. “Do you think you guys are gonna be okay?”

Sokka pondered the question for a moment. But then he ran through the past six months in his head; all of the mornings he had woken to steaming cups of coffee, and evenings he had ended up entangled with Zuko on the sofa or the bed or the floor. And he thought about that morning, jumping out of the shower and looking up from toweling off his hair to find Zuko staring at him with a soft expression on his face.

“You know,” he said, pulling his hand free and reaching out to intertwine with Zuko’s fingers. Sokka grinned when Zuko smiled at him. “I think we’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who read this! whether you lurked or left kudos or wrote a lovely comment, I really appreciate your giving this little story any attention at all. this is the first multi-chapter fic that I've actually finished in full, so it means a lot to me, and I'm excited to finally be putting it up! I hope you are safe and well during what is a difficult time in every part of the world, and that you are spending this time in good health and with people who care about you, and if not, that this fic might provide some comfort, however small.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking this will be updated on a weekly basis! I have an outline this time you guys!! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this if you'd like to, and you can also find me on [tumblr](http://koalaotterodae.tumblr.com)!


End file.
